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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781054">Forbidden Fruit</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderJam/pseuds/LavenderJam'>LavenderJam</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>His Dark Materials (TV), His Dark Materials - Philip Pullman</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Adultery, Affair era, Desk Sex, F/M, Jealousy, Look but Don't Touch, Masturbation, Origin Story, Pre-Canon, Setting-Typical Sexism, The serpent and the apple all at once, Voyeurism</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-29</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-11 00:36:10</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>5,861</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27781054</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/LavenderJam/pseuds/LavenderJam</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>She removed her stockings languidly, dropping them to the ground beside her abandoned shoes, and then slid her lace drawers down her legs and let them fall to the floor in a heap. He began to unbutton his shirt, but she shook her head again and laughed, her teeth gleaming. </p><p>“You don’t often hear the word <em>no</em>, do you?” </p><p>He took another step closer. “Most people know better than to deny me.” </p><p>She gripped the edge of the desk with force. “If you move another inch forward, I’ll leave. I’ll dress and walk out and you’ll never see me again.”</p><p>(How they might have met. Marisa gives Asriel a lesson in looking but not touching.)</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Lord Asriel/Marisa Coulter</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>15</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Forbidden Fruit</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>Now the serpent was more crafty than any other beast of the field that the Lord God had made. He said to the woman, “Did God actually say, ‘You shall not eat of any tree in the garden’?” And the woman said to the serpent, “We may eat of the fruit of the trees in the garden, but God said, ‘You shall not eat of the fruit of the tree that is in the midst of the garden, neither shall you touch it, lest you die.’” – Genesis 3:1-24</p><p>“They fell in love as soon’s they met.” - Northern Lights</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>It was a few minutes before six o’clock and Asriel had no intention whatsoever of leaving his study that evening, let alone putting on a dinner jacket, combing his hair and mingling with polite society. His own data had betrayed him, spitting bizarre results onto the pages of his notebook, his scrawled figures taunting him like enemy agents and giving him a headache, intent on thwarting his genius and souring his mood. He sighed, turned to a fresh page, and began to dot the paper with his familiar script.</p><p>Not for the first time, Asriel wished that he could simply step out onto his balcony, hold his devices to the sky and retake the measurements, but alas, the far north was thousands of miles away, as it always was when he needed it most. He’d returned from his latest expedition mere days ago, and now he had no choice but to adjust back to life in Brytain: thawing his frozen toes, sending his rancid furs out for deep cleaning and raging at the inconsistencies of his own mathematics in his London home. There was no Aurora here to chart; indeed, there was little in this part of the atmosphere that interested him at all. The polluted air above him was home only to a few weak stars and the smoke from the coal works on the city’s outskirts, which smeared the horizon with a grimy haze. He sighed, tearing his eyes from the window, then switched on the anbaric lamp at Stelmaria’s insistence and returned to his work, no plans to move even an inch for the remainder of the evening, or perhaps longer: he would sit there and focus until his figures relented and behaved.</p><p>He toiled with ferocity for some time further, and then, as if they’d realised that it was a grave error to confound him, the numbers began to comply. He noticed a dropped denominator in one of his equations, tidied up the rest of his workings and slotted his data back through the function, and then nodded smugly to himself as the neat graph he’d been expecting materialised. The clock was now inching towards seven and the night was suddenly young again, and his for the taking.</p><p>It was Stelmaria who reminded him of the invite. “That Muscovite will be there,” she purred, and he remembered Lord Croxley dangling the explorer’s name, Kozlov, before him like a bejewelled carrot, the man having just returned from the furthest reaches of Siberia with a trunk full of geologic treasures, the mere thought of which engendered in Asriel the closest emotion he ever felt to jealousy. He also remembered Croxley’s promise of Italian veal and a bottle of ’94 Château Lafite. He requested a clean, pressed shirt from Thorold, shaved and then dressed, slipping on his dinner jacket and slotting a pair of antique silver cufflinks into his crisp white sleeves with aplomb. Then he sauntered down his front steps into the bracing winter chill and gave his driver the other lord’s address.</p><p>It was a small event, perhaps twenty-five people, and they began in the drawing room, glasses of champagne dispensed from silver trays held by impossibly amenable staff. Asriel sipped his drink and idly surveyed the other guests, content to observe until his friend deigned to introduce him to the honoured scholar. The crackling fire was dousing the room with a pleasant warmth, a palpable contrast to the frost outside, and the lamps were dimmed so that the room was bathed in a soft yellow glow. As his eyes swept over the space, the walls decorated with plum paper and edged with gold, the settees a deep burgundy velvet, his gaze locked like a magnet onto a figure on the opposite side of the chamber, a dark-haired woman dressed in red silk, her dæmon a resplendent golden monkey.</p><p>Stelmaria had noticed her too, and at once each silver fur was standing on its end. “Who is she?” she murmured to him. “We haven’t seen her before.”</p><p>“No,” he agreed. “We’d remember if we had.” His eyes roved over her delicate form, enthralled by the way she was stroking the crystal stem of her glass between her manicured fingers as she nodded politely at the exclamations of the elderly gentleman by her side.</p><p>She was not the only woman at the party, far from it – most of the men here had their wives on their arms – but she was the only one who truly drew the eye, and she wore the attention like a beloved but threadbare coat, no longer a source of warmth but still reassuringly familiar. Her dress shimmered like blood dripping from a fresh cut and her lips were coloured crimson to match. She was laughing graciously at the joke the old man beside her had just made, and as Asriel studied her, he watched her expression morph from amusement to utter contempt for a mere fraction of a second, as the old goat turned to take another canapé from the waiter’s tray. It was a foul look, malicious and cruel, as if she was imagining the gentleman doused in kerosene and set on fire before her. The disdain contorted her exquisite face for scarcely a millisecond, and it felt like Asriel had been granted a rare window into her soul, a flash of fury so potent and whole it made him giddy. His chest tightened, and Stelmaria bristled.</p><p>By the time the elderly man had returned his eyes to her, she was smiling demurely again, and Asriel was certain that only he had seen the momentary slip of her façade. His fingers started to twitch at the thought of such a lovely new enigma to decode.  </p><p>Stelmaria moved first, prowling across the room like she was hunting across the ice, the golden monkey in her sights. Asriel strode over behind his dæmon, weaving between the other guests with an untamed grace, until he was standing beside her, close enough to smell her perfume. She smelled of vanilla and black liquorice, and he felt a powerful urge to bury his face into the creamy skin of her neck and take a bite.</p><p>As if planned by forces greater than himself, the older man was called sharply away by his wife as soon as Asriel approached the object of his fascination. The monkey leapt to her shoulder as Stelmaria came closer, then whispered something in her ear as he glanced warily down at the snow leopard, though he didn’t tear his gaze from her lustrous silver fur again. The woman turned to him and their eyes met.</p><p>Her pupils blew out at the sight of him, and he knew that his had done the same. He noted the way her breaths had become faster and harsher, and he felt desire coil uncomfortably in his abdomen as she examined his hulking form and slid her tongue slowly over her red lips. Asriel leaned in closer, and she leaned back, the inaugural step of a dance that would continue until they took their last breaths, and beyond. “A more pious man might call you a saint,” he said, his voice deep and rich. She blinked: his opening line had surprised her, and the thought of that thrilled him.</p><p>Asriel nodded to her previous conversation partner. “Gresham can be terribly dull. How generous of you to entertain the old bore.” </p><p>She didn’t break the stare. “I couldn’t possibly know what you mean,” she said, her voice insufferably sweet and melodic. Asriel felt a strange desire to make her laugh, just to hear the sound.</p><p>“I’m certain that you do.” He took another gulp of his drink. “You were positively captivated by his musings, which I know to be an impossibility.”</p><p>She considered him for a moment, the splendorous monkey still perched on her shoulder, the faintest flush appearing on her décolletage. “You believe that you know a great many things, don’t you?” she said, after a beat.</p><p>“The evidence would suggest so, yes.” He stepped closer to her.</p><p>She laughed and it was just as musical as he’d imagined, light and ariose and textured, like a symphony composed for his ears alone. He found himself thinking that he’d need a lifetime to unpick its layers. “And what evidence would that be?”</p><p>“You don’t know who I am, do you?”</p><p>She raised a dark eyebrow. “Should I?”</p><p>“Most definitely.” He held out his hand. “Lord Asriel Belacqua.”</p><p>She glanced down at his outstretched hand with bemusement, but did not take it. Instead, she lifted her glass to her lips and took a delicate sip of the sparkling liquid, leaving a red lipstick print on the rim.</p><p>His eyes were dark with desire. “And you are?”</p><p>“Wondering how long it will take me to extricate myself from this conversation.” She was so plainly enjoying herself that the barb only made him chuckle.</p><p>“Don’t let me keep you,” he said. “If you’d prefer to still be pandering to ancient relics, then by all means, bid me goodbye.”</p><p>“I was not pandering to him,” she said, a hard edge appearing in her voice, her eyes locking onto his. He felt a sharp stab of arousal in his groin.  </p><p>“It’s not an insult, my dear,” he replied, the endearment rolling off his tongue before he had time to crush the syllables between his teeth. “Indeed, I have no doubt that I am the only person here who saw you sneer while his back was turned.”</p><p>The monkey hissed quietly and Stelmaria let out a low growl of pleasure, her tail swishing like a metronome across the floor.</p><p>“Everyone else remains none the wiser as to how much you despise them. In fact, they are clearly quite enamoured by you. That’s a talent. I’m impressed.”</p><p>She was breathing faster now. Despite the hubbub of the reception, it appeared that only her soft rasps were managing to permeate his tympanic membrane, as if they were conversing at a frequency that his senses alone could perceive. </p><p>She glowered at him. “Do you suppose that’s why I’m here? To impress men like you?”</p><p>He studied her, considering her youth, her savage eyes, the impatient tap of her dark lacquered nails against the crystal of her glass. “If you are, I’m sure it’s by necessity, and not earnest desire.”</p><p>She straightened her back as the monkey leapt to the floor, her eyes softening almost imperceptibly. Then she shook her head and turned, surveying the room once more, though she did not move away from him.</p><p>“Perhaps you’re simply projecting,” she said, her voice soft and lyrical again. “Perhaps you are the one who is enamoured by me.”</p><p>He cocked his head in surprise; it was not as if he’d been trying to obscure his interest. “Undoubtedly,” he said, and she nodded. “That cannot be a shock to you.”</p><p>“Of course not,” she replied. “Your dæmon had been surveilling mine for some time.”</p><p>He glanced down at Stelmaria; her form tended to inspire awe and fear in equal measure. “That didn’t unnerve you?”</p><p>She frowned. “Why should it? I am no stranger to being looked at. And anyway,” she said, letting her eyes sweep over him, “you don’t strike me as much of a threat.”</p><p>She said it with enough force that Asriel knew she was overcompensating. Stelmaria growled and stalked towards the golden monkey, who leapt gracefully to a nearby side table. Asriel’s gaze was boring into the depths of her beautiful eyes, and saliva flooded his mouth. “Then I shall have to try harder,” he said, and she shivered. His heartbeat quickened.</p><p>Then the bell rang for dinner and the spell was broken.</p><p>The return to the cacophony of the room was unpleasant. The sound of glasses clinking and harsh, old voices laughing made him grimace. She seemed equally perturbed, shaking her head and taking her dæmon in her arms with a look of discomfort. They stared at each other, the searing heat of their initial exchange ebbing to a deeper burn, and Asriel was about to offer her his arm and escort her to the dining hall, hoping to continue their conversation, the Muscovite explorer utterly forgotten, when a man appeared by her side and slipped his arm lazily around her waist. Asriel blinked, and then quickly placed a stern hand on Stelmaria’s head to halt her snarl.</p><p>“Marisa, darling,” the man said. “Shall we?”</p><p>At least she had the decency to look flustered. “Of course, my love,” she said, and then leaned in to kiss the man’s cheek. The move was an attack, and as she pulled away, she looked Asriel straight in the eye, and the mix of satisfaction and frustration and delight swirling in her irises was intoxicating. “Nice to meet you, Lord Asriel,” she said sweetly, and then left on the other man’s arm, who gave Asriel a polite nod. As she abandoned her unfinished champagne glass on the table by the door, Asriel noticed her wedding band, the gold glinting in the low light. He felt Stelmaria’s throat rumble with displeasure.</p><p>He was still anchored to the spot when Croxley clapped him on the back and pushed him towards the dining hall. As he was being manhandled, Asriel had just enough time to swipe her abandoned glass from the table and swig the rest of the sparkling wine, his lower lip pressing against the imprint of her ruby lipstick.</p><p>At dinner, Asriel was seated between their host and Dr Kozlov, and a conversation that might have intrigued him a mere hour ago now tasted like cardboard on his tongue. She was at the opposite end of the long table, her husband on her right, another meaningless man on her left. Her husband had one hand on the back of her neck as she conversed with the other guests, and Asriel saw him gently squeeze the alabaster skin when she turned her head. Asriel gripped his thigh. Stelmaria and the golden monkey were staring at each other beneath the table, breasts heaving, fur bristling.</p><p>She did not meet his eyes once throughout the meal, not when the carrot and ginger soup was placed before them by white-gloved hands, nor when the famous veal was served, nor while they spooned chocolate fondant sprinkled with tart red berries into their mouths for dessert. He stole glances at her as he sipped his drink, the rich red wine no longer anything more than cheap chalk, but her gaze was always elsewhere and it infuriated him, because he knew she was doing it on purpose. As he finished his dessert, the taste of the red fruit bitter in his mouth, he dropped his spoon with clatter, hoping to provoke her. She placed her spoon gently in her bowl, turned her husband’s head towards her and drew him in for a slow kiss. Stelmaria growled, and the monkey took several paces towards the snow leopard beneath the table, before the tip of Marisa’s ebony pump came down on his golden tail and held him in place.</p><p>Once the final bowls had been cleared and coffee had been served, their host ushered them into his library, a plush room dotted with leather settees and armchairs, the walls panelled with rosewood shelves and lined with antique books. There was a bar cart against the wall, gunmetal grey and mirrored, a plethora of decanted spirits sitting atop the main tray. Asriel helped himself to a whiskey, feeling calmer now with several glasses of alcohol coursing through his veins, and took a seat in a leather armchair, facing the room as the other guests oozed in. She was still on her husband’s arm, but the man soon left her standing alone, pressing a kiss to her cheek before joining a friend by the drinks cart and selecting a thick cigar from the humidor. The air filled with a pleasant haze as the men smoked and drank and laughed, the party looser now after heavy food and heavier wine, and Asriel watched Marisa like a hawk. Croxley was pouring her a drink, and she was smiling, and then her husband’s hand was on her back, and he was nudging her towards the door.</p><p>Asriel blinked and let his tunnel vision fade, at which point it became clear that the wives were moving down to the parlour, to discuss whatever it is women discuss when they are alone and unencumbered by their husbands. Marisa shook her head and frowned, and then took a seat on the longest settee, the monkey settling on the arm of the furniture, his golden fur glittering in the candlelight.</p><p>She was soon the only woman left in the room, deep in conversation with a glaciologist Asriel vaguely recognised from a conference last spring, but her continued presence was drawing looks from the other men. One of them muttered something to her husband, who gave an exasperated shrug. Asriel’s fingers twitched. </p><p>Croxley cleared his throat. “Marisa, my dear, Clara mentioned that she was dying to show you her new gown – you know, the one I had imported from New France, on your recommendation. Perhaps you’d like to remind her?”</p><p>Marisa gave him an innocent look, but her fingers slid into the monkey’s fur. “What a wonderful idea, Magnus,” she smiled. “I’ll make sure to take a look before we leave tonight.”</p><p>Their host frowned. “Perhaps you could go now,” he said, and Marisa’s jaw clenched.</p><p>“I’m perfectly happy as I am, thank you.” She sipped her drink and turned back to the glaciologist, but he was now looking awkwardly at the floor.</p><p>She was being stared at by fifteen men, the conversation now limited to whispers on the outskirts of the room, and Asriel had to admire her poise under such a thick blanket of tension. She smiled demurely and ran a hand through her curls, the other still buried in her dæmon’s fur.</p><p>“Marisa,” her husband said, placing a hand on her shoulder. “I’ll fetch you later, alright?”</p><p>“Edward – ”</p><p>“Don’t make a scene,” he hissed, his dæmon letting out a low growl.</p><p>She looked briefly wounded, then swallowed and stood, smoothing the scarlet silk of her dress down over her thighs. “Very well,” she said tightly, then stalked over to the door. The rest of the party had stopped paying her attention before she’d even left the room, which made it easy for her to find Asriel’s eyes before she left, holding his gaze for a moment longer than she should as she unlatched the door and entered the hallway. Stelmaria was on her feet immediately, but Asriel forced her back to the ground with a firm hand on her pearlescent head.</p><p>He finished his drink, took a proffered cigar and blew a few smoke rings, raged about the Magisterium’s new Watercourse Bill, and then said jovially, “If you’ll excuse me, gentleman,” and they waved him away without an ounce of suspicion. He slipped into the hallway, Stelmaria prowling ahead immediately, her haunches lean and purposeful, and then considered where she might be. He could hear women’s laughter through the door to his left, but he would have staked his entire fortune that she hadn’t stepped foot in the parlour. He strode down the hall and glanced briefly up the main staircase, smiling as a patch of gold caught his eye between the highest slats of the banister.</p><p>She was waiting for him.</p><p>He forced himself to take the stairs one at a time, though Stelmaria’s ragged pants were anything but surreptitious, and by the time he reached the upstairs landing she was gone. A flash of red was disappearing behind a dark wooden door, and a grin unfurled across his face as he ploughed towards it.</p><p>The room was a study, perhaps even Croxley’s private quarters, the walls panelled with the same rosewood as the library downstairs. The only furniture was a matching desk with two brocade chairs before it. The naphtha lamps were turned low, the room drenched in a soft, buttery glow, the air thick like warm honey. She’d pulled a book from the shelves and was lazily flicking through it, her dæmon perched on her shoulder, watching him carefully. Asriel closed the door behind him and paced towards her, his body thrumming with anticipation.</p><p>She span around and held her palm up to him. He found himself frozen.</p><p>“If you touch me, I’ll scream,” she said.</p><p>His lip twitched, the beginning of a smirk. “That is what tends to happen when women feel my hands on them, yes.”</p><p>Her face remained impassive, but her dæmon chittered. She sent the golden creature to the back of an armchair with a nod and went to rest against the desk, her arms folded.</p><p>He stood before her, fearless. “You summoned me here,” he said. “No need to be coy now.”</p><p>She said nothing. Without breaking their stare, she slipped off her shoes and lifted herself gracefully onto the desk, her legs dangling off the edge, her toes no longer able to touch the sumptuous Persian rug that lined the floor.</p><p>He took off his jacket and draped it over the armchair. He started to walk towards her, but she shook her head. “No,” she said, her eyes glittering in the lamplight. “Stay there.”</p><p>She removed her stockings languidly, dropping them to the ground beside her abandoned shoes, and then slid her lace drawers down her legs and let them fall to the floor in a heap. He began to unbutton his shirt, but she shook her head again and laughed, her teeth gleaming.</p><p>“You don’t often hear the word <em>no</em>, do you?”</p><p>He took another step closer. “Most people know better than to deny me.”</p><p>She gripped the edge of the desk with force. “If you move another inch forward, I’ll leave. I’ll dress and walk out and you’ll never see me again.”</p><p>“I doubt that,” he said, his legs twitching with desire, a conception of his life that didn’t include her already discarded. However, he rested his hand against the chair’s wooden crest rail to steady himself and stayed put.</p><p>She nodded, pleased, then closed her eyes, spread her legs and began to pleasure herself.</p><p>His knuckles flashed white as his fingers dug into the wood of the chair. The skirt of her dress was bunched around her waist, the silk rippling like a shimmering red sea, but the parting he was truly enthralled by was that of the lips between her legs. Her naked cunt was glistening, her fingers slipping between her folds, the gold of her wedding ring catching the light as she stroked herself.</p><p>The monkey was gazing wistfully down at Stelmaria from the top of the armchair, but when the snow leopard leaned her front paws on the leather and tried to nip him, the golden dæmon clambered to one of the bookcase’s high shelves and dangled his hand down to the leopard, knowing that she’d never be able to reach. Asriel was standing still as a statue, his erection straining against the stiff material of his whipcord trousers, his mouth watering. Her hips began to judder and her breaths became high-pitched rasps, and the whole scene was so erotic that Asriel couldn’t help but stumble towards her, panting like an animal.</p><p>To his surprise, she leaned back on the desk, spreading her legs wider so that he could stand between them. The monkey was still perched on his high shelf, ignoring Stelmaria’s growls of displeasure, the leopard leaning against the bookcase on her hind legs, desperately trying to lure him down. Marisa brought her feet up so that they were resting on the cool surface of the bureau, and Asriel pushed himself into the edge of the desk, wood against wood, looking down at her like a lion about to devour a gazelle. Still, though, no part of their bodies was in contact, and the space between them might as well have been a spark chamber, the air charged with crackling anbaricity.</p><p>She was moaning before him, her fingers rubbing herself furiously, and he could hear her slickness as it coated her hand. He pushed himself harder into the desk, trying desperately to relieve the ache in his groin, mere centimetres and the thin wool of his trousers separating him from her. He could have been inside her in a moment, and just the thought made him groan. He fell forward, his hands resting either side of her shoulders, his face above hers. Not a single cell of them was touching, though the void between them had the pull of a black hole, and he wanted nothing more than to fall into it, force himself inside her, lick the sweat from her neck and take her in his arms.</p><p>But he didn’t. He held himself above her, his core shuddering with the effort, huffing as she bucked beneath him. She was close, clearly, and he could feel the heat emanating from her sex, warming the air between her and his abdomen. Moisture must have been pooling on the wood of the desk. Her breast was flushed and trembling, and her free hand was in her mouth, stifling her cries of pleasure. Stelmaria was whining across the room, while the monkey seemed content to tease, though if anyone had plumbed the depths of his wide black eyes in that moment, they’d only have found raw want, as sensitive and painful as an exposed nerve.</p><p>Asriel couldn’t stand it any longer: he bent his elbows and lowered his torso down, their faces only two inches apart, still careful not to press against her, for reasons he couldn’t have articulated had he been asked. He was above her, around her, encasing her with his presence, but they remained painfully separate, binary stars with a magnetic void between them. She opened her eyes and he found them glistening. “Don’t,” she gasped, her breath hitching.</p><p>He closed his eyes, but the breathy whimpers spooling from her throat only made him harder. He ground into the desk, wishing he were melting into her soft skin.</p><p>“I don’t care how much noise you make,” he forced out, his voice ragged. “The louder the better.”</p><p>“No,” she said, her head giving the faintest of shakes. Then she cried out and jerked beneath him, and he lifted gracefully up to give her space to shudder.</p><p>“You want me,” he said.</p><p>She nodded. He could feel her quivering, writhing on the wood, could hear her fingers stroking more insistently with each moment that passed. He bent to kiss her neck.</p><p>“Don’t,” she whined, and not for the last time, he thought that he didn’t understand one iota of this woman.</p><p>“Why not?” he said harshly.</p><p>“Don’t you see?” she gasped, their eyes locked together, scarcely a centimetre separating their faces. “If we touch – if our souls truly meet – we’ll fall in love. And that – ” She stifled a cry. “Will ruin my life,” she forced out, and then she was coming beneath him, twisting and thrashing, and her hand was back in her mouth, her teeth pressed into the meat at the base of her thumb. He pushed himself back up and held himself above her, watching her squirm and shudder, then closed his eyes and basked in the sound of her climax. His heart was thudding.</p><p>They remained like that for some time, her twitching on the desk, him panting above her, their chests flushed, their harsh breaths the only sounds in the hot, hazy room. Their dæmons stared wistfully at each other, her golden monkey still tantalisingly, cruelly out of reach. She opened her eyes, and as they stared at each other, a spark of recognition flitted between them, the last two speakers of a dead language brought together, a whole world revived and sprawling out before them, the future bright and hopeful and made anew. Asriel couldn’t help but smile.  </p><p>As she pushed herself back into a sitting position, the edge of the desk glistening, he drew back, like two waves rolling across the ocean in parallel. She bowed her head, still breathing heavily, and when she raised her eyes to his they blazed with a merciless pride. There was not an ounce of timidity in her gaze and he realised with a start that he adored her, this magnificent woman, whose name he’d yet to speak aloud, whose skin he’d yet to touch.</p><p>“Come home with me,” he said, stepping back so that she could reach for her discarded garments.</p><p>She smiled as she drew the scrap of lace back up her legs and then began to roll her stockings over her calves. She held up the fingers of her left hand, still slick with her glorious moisture. Her wedding ring caught the light. “I can’t,” she said, slipping on her shoes and smoothing down the silk of her dress.</p><p>“You must. I insist.” He stared at her, bold and unrelenting.</p><p>She laughed. “Oh, if you <em>insist…</em>” She tilted her head. “No, Lord Asriel. As I said, it will ruin my life.”</p><p>“Some things are better ruined.”</p><p>She rolled her eyes. “You would say that, wouldn’t you?”</p><p>She clicked her fingers at the monkey and he leapt deftly from the bookcase to the rail of the armchair to her shoulder. As she walked towards the exit, Asriel mirrored her exactly, walking backwards without breaking her gaze until he hit the door with his back.</p><p>“Asriel, please, let me go.”</p><p>“No.”</p><p>She huffed, then reached around him to twist the handle and pull the door towards her. It only opened an inch before his weight stopped it, and he smirked. “Feel free to move me aside.”</p><p>That would have broken her own rules, so strenuously, painfully followed, and she scowled. “Asriel.”</p><p>“Marisa.” She pulled the door open again, hitting him harder now, but the inch of space hardly left her room to hurt him.</p><p>He leaned back, easing the door closed, and they were standing so close together that he could smell the musk floating off her body, the warm vanilla radiating from her flushed throat. Her red lips were hardly smudged, for they had not yet been graced by his. He bent his head, expecting her to flinch, but she stayed still and closed her eyes. He could feel her quivering.</p><p>He let his lips hover above hers, hardly an atom’s width between them, for long enough that she let out an exasperated whimper. Then he pulled deftly away and stepped aside, gesturing to the door. “Off you go, then,” he said, laying his broad hand on Stelmaria’s head as she sat poised beside him.</p><p>Marisa looked so enraged that he couldn’t contain his smirk. She raised her hand and he briefly thought she was going to wipe the smug grin off his face with a slap, but then she let the tips of her fingers linger by his cupid’s bow, so close that he could smell her on them. He grunted and felt himself stiffen again. She hesitated, then let her skin meet his, tracing the line of his lips with the pads of her ring and middle finger. Her fingertips were almost pressed against his nostrils, and the smell of her, musk and hot metal and peril, suffused his chest, and then he was moaning, one hand resting on the doorjamb to steady himself.</p><p>She slid her fingers into his mouth, and he wondered if this was heaven. The taste was wonderful, rich and salty and sweet, and as her nails skated along his soft palate he probed the seam of her two fingers with his tongue, wanting to have as much of her pressed against as much of him as possible. As his tongue swirled over her fragrant skin, he suddenly tasted bitter metal, and felt her wedding ring clink against his teeth.</p><p>The sound clearly shocked her, and her breath hitched as she snatched her fingers back. She was wide eyed, and for the first time Asriel truly saw the youth on her lovely face. Their gazes locked, and he realised that she’d been right, as she often would be, and that he was lost. “My love,” he said softly, and reached out to stroke her cheek. She pressed a hand to her mouth and fled, slamming the door behind her.</p><p>He waited for a moment then careered down the corridor, wrenching open doors until he found a bathroom. He stared at himself in the mirror: his hair was tousled, his cheeks flushed, his shirt half-unbuttoned. He splashed some water on his face, bowed his head and groaned. When he raised his eyes to his reflection again, he traced the outline of his lips with the same fingers of his left hand, just as she’d been doing mere moments ago. He smiled, the memory already seared into his mind, buried like a treasure in his hippocampus.</p><p>His testicles were aching, and he considered stroking himself to completion in the bathroom, but quickly decided that would be far too degrading. Instead, he buttoned his shirt and fetched his jacket from the study, the smell of her sex overwhelming him as soon as he returned to the room, and headed back to the library.</p><p>He expected her to be in the parlour, but when he slipped back into the men’s chamber he found her perched on the arm of the chair her husband was sitting in, the man’s arm hooked around her waist, his fingers playing leisurely with the soft fabric of her dress. Asriel blinked at the force of the anger that bloomed in his chest, his jealousy a tidal wave threatening to consume him. Stelmaria nudged his knee as a warning.</p><p>He fixed himself a stiff drink and returned to the group, where the forgotten Muscovite was regaling the rest of the party with tales from Siberia. There was a spare seat on the settee next to the armchair she was settled on, a foot’s open air between them, and she shot him a rapid glare as he plonked himself down on the leather. He swirled his tongue around his mouth before he took the first sip of his whiskey, lapping up the lingering traces of her flavour before he washed the taste away - for now, at least.</p><p>He couldn’t have paid attention to the other explorer if he’d wanted to, his every cell awake to her slightest movement, each breath that flowed from her crimson mouth like a tempest threatening to knock him down. The scene was distracting enough as it was, but then he felt a sear in his chest, a bolt of hot lightning, and realised that their dæmons were stroking each other behind the settee, the silver and gold fur melding together like a precious new coin. His eyes snapped to hers and he knew that she was feeling it too, and as he brought his glass to his lips he smiled into the ornate crystal, content to let himself tumble, to fall into her beautiful eyes, to let her soul rifle through his and strip him bare, to cause chaos in his pounding, ruthless heart. In fact, he welcomed it.</p>
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